


A Race Left Unwon

by melimarron



Series: At the End of the World, Who Will Bring Your Grave Flowers? [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, I have very few regrets, Jewish Pietro Maximoff, Jewish Wanda Maximoff, guess who's back at it, pietro's death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:14:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23231524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melimarron/pseuds/melimarron
Summary: The most important decisions of Pietro Maximoff's life are the ones that stick in his mind at the end.
Relationships: Pietro Maximoff & Wanda Maximoff
Series: At the End of the World, Who Will Bring Your Grave Flowers? [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1656145
Kudos: 8





	A Race Left Unwon

The very first decision Pietro Maximoff ever made that had a very clear effect on his life was complete instinct. He hadn’t even consciously noticed anything was wrong, but his ears had registered the whistling of bombs about to crash down on his home, and instinct had made him grab Wanda and pull her under the bed.

That instinct had saved their lives.

He couldn’t quite feel like that was a good thing when he woke up in the dead of night in a cold sweat, fighting off nightmares of his parents’ rotting bodies.

The second decision Pietro Maximoff made that had a very clear effect on his life was probably, quite possibly, most likely the worst mistake of his entire life.

 _Why_ in the _world_ had he and Wanda decided to allow their bodies, their bloodstreams, their _lives_ to be violated by cold, unfeeling scientists who turned out to be _Nazis_?

That was disgusting, that was morally abhorrent, that was awful, that was that was that was. Pietro ran out of words to describe it after a while, his thoughts skating across the surface of his mind quickly enough that even Wanda couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

Pietro was like an automaton in the months they worked for _Hydra_. He can’t even think the word without a sneer of disgust flickering across his face, too quickly for anyone to take notice.

But Hydra had given them _power_.

And power was power, and his was a beautiful, strong, wonderful _power_ , even if it came from a vile, corrupt source.

Pietro had had to learn how to use it, of course. While he’d crashed into walls over and over, underestimating just how _quickly_ his body could move now, Wanda had been in the next cell over, twisting mist into a weapon.

But they’d learned.

They’d learned, and thanks to Wanda’s powers, Pietro knew that when their nightmares gave way to dreams, they both dreamt of nothing but revenge.

And then they had been set loose against the Avengers, including Tony Stark himself.

 _Finally,_ Wanda sent her thoughts to him, foregoing the more traditional methods of communication in favor of one that allowed them to say whatever they wanted to each other. _We can finally begin our revenge._

Pietro sent back nothing but gleeful, anticipative laughter.

* * *

In the past, Wanda had liked to berate him for being too hasty to make decisions. He had always scoffed at her. Still, he’d thought, just because _she_ could read minds now didn’t mean _he_ couldn’t observe body language and figure out who was a friend or foe.

In hindsight, _maybe_ he shouldn’t have been so cocky.

Because _how the fuck_ had he managed, in his nineteen years of life, to not only join up with Nazis, but also a _robot_ who wanted to _destroy the world?_

There was clearly something wrong with the Maximoff decision making skills in general.

At least Wanda had missed it, too, although he supposed that she couldn’t read minds when they’d joined Hydra, and it’s not like a cold, unloving hunk of metal could ever have a mind worth reading.

It didn’t matter.

Still, Pietro couldn’t help but wonder if his ancestors were staring down at his and Wanda’s lives in horror, watching as the last surviving Maximoffs transformed their legacy into a superpowered comedy of errors.

 _We will avenge them,_ he promised himself. _We have to avenge them._

* * *

Collaborating with the Avengers- particularly _Tony Stark_ \- was an odd and mildly terrifying experience. He and Wanda had spent their lives plotting against Stark, learning as much as they could about him with their admittedly limited resources, because there was no way you could beat an enemy without understanding him.

(When they had gotten powers, when they had been allowed to see each other again for the first time since the experiments succeeded, Pietro had been overjoyed at Wanda’s mind reading ability. No enemy would ever catch them off guard now, between her mind and his speed.)

(His world had splintered as soon as she figured out how to send him her thoughts, as soon as she had a foolproof method of communication between them.)

(If her first thoughts to him hadn’t been _they’re not SHIELD, they’re Hydra, they’re Nazis,_ Pietro would have laughed at the utter clicheness of telepathic twins.)

But the knowledge of how Anthony Edward Stark worked did help them in small ways. They knew exactly what the Iron Man suit could do. Wanda knew exactly what to show him to crumble him, shatter him, destroy him. The other Avengers had seen nightmares of their own devising- she’d found a painful memory and coupled it with fear and let their own brains to the rest- but Stark, Stark, Stark, the man who had ruined their lives when they were barely ten- _he_ got a carefully curated nightmare born of revenge.

But, despite their _history_ with the Avengers, working with them was easy, like falling into the rhythms of a dance that you haven’t danced in years. Like he and Wanda were born to be a part of the Avengers, and had only recently realized that.

That strange sense of security, of belonging, of guilt, of trust thrummed in his heart as he ran.

It surged up to choke him when he caught sight of Barton and the child.

* * *

Instinct had saved his life when he was ten years old. There was no reason that it wouldn’t now- except he was deliberately working _against_ instinct, making the conscious decision to throw himself into danger to save a child of Sokovia and a hero of America.

Maybe he would be known as a Sokovian hero after all.

If nothing else, he would die, having redeemed himself for working with _Nazis_. The word leaves a foul taste in his mind, and he scrubbed halfheartedly at it before giving up.

Pietro took a deep breath and made his final decision.

There was no way for Wanda to read his mind when he was going fast enough to stop bullets, but that didn’t stop him from sending her a wordless _I’m sorry_ and _I love you_ and _I’ll say hello to our family for you._

The bullets hit.

_Oh, G-d._

Pietro Maximoff died before he could notice Wanda’s frantic pulling at his mind and soul, screaming inwardly and out, love and instinct and desperation coming together to force her to try to stop the inevitable. Her powers gave her a front row seat to the only constant in her life crumbling and falling and ceasing to exist.

Pietro Maximoff died before he could notice the screams.


End file.
